


V

by zanni_scaramouche



Series: Vulgar [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 5SOS - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Barebacking, Biting, Check Notes if unsure, Come Marking, Coming Untouched, Drug Use, Frottage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mafia AU, Mild Breathplay, Mild Painplay, Minor Character Death, Mob Boss Harry Styles, More smut things!, Oral Sex, Past Perrie Edwards/Zayn Malik, Possessive Behavior, Pretty lite, Rough Sex, Stripper Louis Tomlinson, Um general Mafia/Gang related criminal activity, Violence, a good blanket tag without getting too into it, mentions of animal death, that about sums it up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23183608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanni_scaramouche/pseuds/zanni_scaramouche
Summary: Harry pays him to dance, Louis enjoys the sex on the side, and that’s all that ties them together. Whatever else the enigmatic man does is none of Louis’ fucking business.Louis works at a club owned by infamous Harry Styles, leader of the largest criminal organization this side of the country. As they twirl closer together police and rival gangs start to gain the upper hand, forcing everyone's loyalty to be questioned.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Vulgar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666684
Comments: 57
Kudos: 244





	1. Vulgar

**Author's Note:**

> HONESTLY  
> I think this story reads best in the 'Entire Work' view but that's just my opinion! 
> 
> Yoo if you have any concerns about the TAGS or content know this:  
> human trafficking, narcotics/alcohol and graphic violence will be featured. Explicit language. Allusions to subspace. There's a moment withdrawal of consent pops in, but it passes. Also the death is sorta... a high profile character. I'll go and say H + L make it, but everyone else is fair game. You've been warned! Stay safe!
> 
> If you prefer, there is a Sterek version of this story titled 'Blue Light (i'm waiting for it, that)'

They’ve been acquainted for less than a month. Every few days Louis struts past the office only to catch a glimpse of wild curls and the deep rumble of laughter. He was lucky to get the job, the hiring process intimidating not by the competition but due to the sharp cut of the suits the men wore while evaluating him. The thorough questions, the high stress on loyalty, and the endless papers for him to sign. Most thought it too invasive, too intense, to become ornamental. Louis could see through the high gloss surfaces and sleek design inside the club. Money like this didn’t come from nowhere, he knew what he was getting involved in. Who he would be involved with.

The man kept himself purposefully removed, the distance helping obscure his mysterious persona, which Louis assumed he wore with the sole purpose of keeping people intrigued. Louis was intrigued. Maybe he should have been careful about it, the naked desperation simmering in his gut, but he wasn’t. Every time their eyes met it engulfed him. It must have shown, because he was rewarded with a slow and wicked smile.

Nearly a month since he learned Louis’ name and started greeting him with sly winks. Weeks Louis spent scanning the crowd every time he sashayed onto the floor to mingle with posh society in less fabric than he slept in. He wasn’t ashamed of his body, couldn’t be with this job, but on rare occasions those green eyes electrified every inch of revealed skin in a way Louis could feel from across the room.

Off limits. One of the many agreements Louis signed stated so. None of the employees had been successful catching his eye in the time Louis’ been there, especially with no touching or teasing allowed. Not that he’s around much to do so. Every glimpse is fleeting, and Louis never sees him twice on the same night. Louis imagines leading the largest criminal organization on this coast involves keeping a busy schedule.

Now it’s late, so late it’s early, and Louis’ returning to the change rooms to rinse the sweat and hands he can still feel on him from a long night of work. The change in shift and position was more physically demanding than he’s used to, and it also means using the rooms near the office instead of the familiar ones provided backstage. He’s rubbing a stubborn ache in his neck when he catches sight of the man at the other end of the hall. His feet give a small hiccup he prays goes unnoticed. Louis ducks into the change room where his street clothes are bundled in a mess at the bottom of his locker, running a hand through sweaty hair and breathing out in relief at finally having a moment alone.

The reprieve is short lived. He’s there, closing the door behind him with greedy green eyes and a twist of a smile. He crowds Louis against the wall slowly, plenty of time to step away. It’s impossible. Louis is frozen under him and they both know it. He comes closer, loose curls brushing against Louis’ face, firm hands on his waist to hold him in place. Only when he has him, with his breath on Louis’ neck and the immovable weight of his body caging him in, does he speak.

“Louis,” he hums, “I’ve been watching you.” He bites lightly at the sensitive skin by Louis’ pulse, “have you been watching me?”

Louis swallows with a dry throat and nods, all words abandoning him. He feels the man smile, another little nip on his neck.

“I’ve been thinking about you, too. Do you want me to show you what I think about?”

He shouldn't. His signature is on the bloody papers swearing he wouldn't. But that was before Louis knew the musky smell of him and the texture of a fine silk suit against his bare skin.

“Please,” he whines.

Harry's teeth are no longer gentle, his mouth a searing wet heat.

Louis’ never seen him in anything other than a suit, but there’s an underlying wildness to Harry. The curls he does nothing to tame, the blunt way in which he speaks, the relentless focus of his eyes that pin you down without consideration for their intensity. He’s an animal wrapped in tailored threads. Yet the precise way he pulls Louis’ hips against his and the measured way he runs a hand along his sides until it rests gently at the crook of his neck and shoulder, it all speaks to a measure of control Louis imagines only comes out when he’s fucking or killing.

Harry’s hand is light around Louis’ neck. His pulse triples in speed. He’s never been into that, never been into much besides the basics, but maybe he should think about it. He’s thinking about it. The man’s fingers press lightly into the column of Louis’ throat, a tease of the strength he’s keeping contained, before his hand curls into the hair on the back of Louis’ head to tilt him up, up, and now teeth are sinking into his lips and he’s really fucking glad he let his hair grow out. It’s sharp and demanding, but there’s still something holding back in it.

The last time Louis touched someone was a teenaged girlfriend, pleasant and sweet and they both laughed as they fumbled through it. The last thing Harry’s touch makes Louis want to do is laugh.

Air is hard enough to push through his throat when there’s a clothed thigh creating friction on the sensitive skin between his legs with the intoxicating press of Harry’s thick length. The wall behind Louis is uncomfortably cold and the scorching heat of a body against his chest causes him to ache. Caught between two extremes he doesn't know where to pull or push. By the time their mouths part Louis is trembling.

Harry tells him to get on the ground.

The floor is freezing. It brightens the world, a flash of reality spiking into this dazed dream. What the fuck are he doing, kneeling on the floor of his workplace in front of a man more dangerous without a gun than with? His hand is still in Louis’ hair. It tugs until he look up, up, up to his eyes and he’s gone again. Louis’ hands find muscled thighs and he watches in blown curiosity as they slide up and over the silk covered swell of Harry, pressing firmly against his dick through the thin layers.

The feel of it under his hand is intoxicating. Harry’s eyes are dark, his head haloed by curls as he watches Louis fumble through the clasps and pull down the waist bands and he’s not watching those green eyes anymore, he’s watching the fine line of hair from Harry’s navel down down down until, finally, a bare cock is inches from his face. There’s no denying what's happening, what’s going to happen, as Harry uses calloused fingers to leisurely stroke himself.

Louis’ seen this before, on the tiny LED screen of his laptop and from the other side when his old girlfriend attempted. He can guess what to do and what not to do. He licks his lips and lets Harry place the salty tip on his tongue, hot and heavier than expected. Slowly he closes his mouth around it. Damn. He barely recalls how he got here, but in for a penny in for a pound. Harry’s hand cradles the side of his head as he slides in half way, slow enough that Louis could pull back if he wanted, but he doesn't know what he wants, so he lets him sink deeper.

How has no one told him what this feels like? How possessive a hand feels in his hair, how much he needs to concentrate on breathing and swallowing and keeping his teeth covered and despite that he’s twitching in his tight pants like he’s seconds away from coming in them. He keeps one hand on Harry’s thigh and presses the heel of the other into his own crotch for friction.

Harry slides out long and slow, shallowly thrusting and Louis’ caught by the drag of him on his tongue. His eyelids flutter. He can’t stop the moan or the hand he uses to work himself. He forgets everything he’d just been focused on to stay alive and gets lost in the feel of Harry filling his mouth over and over.

The pace quickens, the hand in Louis’ hair tightens. Spit is running down his chin in a way that can’t be attractive and there are tears and his nose is running and still every time his eyes clear long enough to see Harry’s staring down at him with an unwavering focus. Those eyes strip him bare. He’s a disastrous mess, and the sound of them echoing around the small room is vulgar. He hides behind his lids.

“Look at me,” and Louis can't open his eyes fast enough, the green of Harry’s irises swallowed by pupils. “Fuck, Louis.”

Harry pushes in so far Louis chokes, panic flaring in his chest before Harry pulls out so he can breathe, one long gasp before another as Harry strokes himself, watching. Louis wonders if the heat of the moments passed, if he’s screwed it up. But Harry’s still got a hand on his dick and Louis’ mouth is starting to feel strange, like it’s empty and misses the hot weight of him, and he’s quite positive there’s a wet spot where his own dick is absolutely throbbing. He doesn't realize the whine is coming from himself until it cuts off with a ragged breath. He feels desperate at Harry’s feet, unable to think past the haze of wanting.

“Up.”

Louis staggers against the wall, using it to support himself as Harry presses in once more and yanks at Louis’ small briefs until they’re halfway around his thighs and his cock is finally free. Louis chokes on his breath when Harry unceremoniously wraps a hand around him, and he can’t look away from where he’s being stroked in thorough pulls. The hand is tight and rough, a little dry. Skilled where it swipes over his sensitive tip.

When Harry stops its only to press his hips in closer, lining up against Louis, and he spits to ease the friction. There are two words left in Louis’ vocabulary, a curse and Harry’s name, and he alternates between them with his hands fisted into the fine threads of the man’s shirt.

Harry leans in close and sucks near the back of Louis’ ear like he knows it’s all that’s needed because Louis’ gone, absolutely shattered as his abs clench and his balls tighten and he’s coming hot all over the two of them. Harry uses his release to slick the way on his own dick and Louis’ never seen anything hotter and he’s mesmerized, already praying he never forgets the image of it. He’s still pulsing with aftershocks as Harry finishes between them with nothing more than the sharp sound of Louis’ name on his lips.

Louis’ at a loss of what comes next. He’s the cuddling kind, but he’s never had sex not near a couch or a bed and Harry’s already pulled away. If he tries to stand without the wall his knees would fail, so he stays put and lets Harry lead, just as he has since he walked in the room. The touch of silk on his stomach is a surprise he flinches at, before realizing it’s just Harry. He’s coiled his tie around the hand now meticulously wiping Louis down with prompt strokes. Harry helps him tug his pants back on.

The curls near Harry’s forehead are a bit damp, his cheeks perhaps a little flush, but his shirt is tucked in under the jacket he’s already slid back into and he looks the same as he always does. Proper, if a bit wild. Louis tries to remember the way his name sounded as he came.

He doesn't know if he can meet Harry’s eyes, if he should, what he should say, if he should say anything. Harry takes care of it by pressing in for a kiss so long and savage Louis loses himself. His mouth is raw and oversensitive, hyper aware of the vicious way Harry moves against him. Demanding. With a heavy hand gripping tight at Louis’ waist and the other down his pants on the bare skin of his ass he takes and takes. Harry pulls away brutally, all at once.

“I’ll see you next week.”

He’s gone like a phantom, not even his footsteps heard. Louis’ still catching his breath.


	2. Purple Tuesdays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... am I ever going to write dialogue? Guess we'll have to wait and find out! 
> 
> Very excited about where this is going, are you? Things really pick up in the next chapter. In my plot template this chapter is called 'the backstory' and dude, it shoooows. How do you like a heaping plate of 'exposition' with a side of 'minimal dialogue?'

Sometimes he knows. A thousand eyes on him and he can only feel a singular pair of emeralds sliding over his sweating curves. Walking by the office at the end of a night and hearing Niall’s cackling accompanied by a low chuckle he knows the taste of. Sometimes a hand appears out of thin air. Before a thought can enter his mind he’s against a lacquered wall or the backside of a tightly locked door, weighed down with the heavy press of a body and a vicious mouth on his. Every week it’s quick and brutal and Louis is left panting and sloppily put back together as Harry disappears without more than a handful of words. He doesn’t know why him, why now, but he doesn’t linger too much on it either. His fosters always did call him impulsive. 

By the end of a night his hair has a habit of sticking to his eye lashes. With a sigh he pushes it back. He’s going to cut it soon, and unlike the last thousand times he told himself this, he really means it. A familiar ringing in his ears from constant heavy bass accompanies him in the silence of the club’s closing hour as he pads on bare feet through the neon lit back hall. Tonight it’s settled on a purple hue and it puts a little warmth in Louis’ tummy, he always likes the purple nights. Purple reminds him of dimples and a particular suit he made a mess of. 

With a hand hooked onto the doorframe he swings lightly into the dressing room. The long expanse of Shawn’s exposed backside greets him, Bebe shrugging into a soft trackie set beside him. Damn, they knew what they were doing when they hired that boy. Not a flaw to him.

“Gonna blind me someday if you don’ start wearin’ pants.”

Shawn gives him a cheeky smile over his shoulder as he pulls up loose sweats. Bebe rolls her eyes.

“If there’s someone who’s gotta keep their pants on it’s you. Don’t think you’ve been disappearing without notice, some of us are actually here to do our jobs,” she shrugs her blush pink bag onto her shoulder and cuts him a more serious look, “and not break contract, mind.” 

There are a lot of contracts, so Louis’ not too bothered that they particularly know who he’s been disappearing with as he digs out the least disheveled clothes from beneath the mess in his locker. They aren’t even supposed to hook up with each other, but you get a fair amount of attractive people half naked and sweaty in the same room on a daily basis there’s only one real outcome. Louis’ never crossed that line. Or he hadn’t, until he’d been dragged over by exceptionally firm hands. 

Shawn snickers as he follows Bebe out with his own bag tossed onto his back. 

He spins on his heels to Louis, “She’s jealous, Lou. Her last no-strings just tried to make an honest woman out of her. Must have been suicidal,” he laughs with a quick rap against the door frame before disappearing into the purple light. 

Louis chuckles along at the thought, no wonder she’d been wound up lately. His shower is brief and soon he’s set in his favourite rumpled hoodie and trainers. He stares at the inside of his locker, debating if he should fill his now empty pack to change out what he’s kept here, fuck knows when the last time he actually did laundry was, but despite the late hour he’s got a feeling about tonight. He shuts the locker empty handed. 

Voices ring out in the hall, muted through walls but louder than the usual jamboree chatter of Niall shooting the shit with Lewis over a bottle of something amber. Louis’ barely two steps out the door when a panther in a man's body stalks out of the office. Beneath the harsh shadow Louis catches a sneer carved into the man’s dark features. Instinctively Louis’ feet immediately step to the side. 

The voices in the office have stopped and Louis figures maybe he was wrong about tonight's prospects, wouldn’t be the first time, but the least he can do is say goodnight to Niall and maybe get a laugh out of him. Especially if the poor sod had to deal with a man like that. 

The office door is left open and Louis spins into it much the same as he did earlier that evening. He’s opened his mouth with a crass joke he knows will be to Niall’s liking when he catches sight of a man in a floral suit on the couch. An undignified squeak catches in his throat before he can shut his mouth. He flicks his eyes around and yep, there’s Harry’s shadow lurking in the corner with his arms crossed and a low brow. Some things never change. 

Niall smiles a little lackluster at the sight of him. Louis near trips backing out with the room’s solemn attention on him. 

“Right,” he drawls smoothly as he can manage, chin up, “I’ll just be headin’ out then,” he widens his eyes at Niall for the sake of his growing smirk, the man clearly enjoying Louis’ awkward fumble. 

“Louis,” His eyes snap to Harry as a thrill shoots through him. Not necessarily of excitement, the look on Harry’s face could come close to killing a man and Louis is thankful its directed at Harry’s own white fisted hands instead of Louis’ face. Louis had been too focussed on not looking at him to see how tight his muscles were coiled. “Wait in the hall.”

And there’s not much he can do about the grit of a command like that. Swallowing roughly he ducks out and leans against the wall, heart pounding. It’s a tad ridiculous really, he’s not some school kid in trouble with a teacher but it sure as hell feels like it. The door is shut behind him so he waits in silence, bouncing on his feet and fiddling with his oversized cuffs. Something sparks and he stills in thought. 

Niall must know about him and Harry, because as much as Harry was his boss by virtue of owning the establishment, Niall was the one who ran the club. He knew everything that happened within its walls, knew when to let the employees sleeping with each other slide and when people had run their course. Louis was a longtime witness to it, coworkers he’d been friendly with disappearing one week after a missed shift or bad night and a new face quickly taking their place. Niall hadn’t confronted him yet, which meant Harry must have told him not to, which was a little unnerving. Louis liked Niall, got on with him and his crude sense of humour and easy going atmosphere. It wasn’t uncommon to stop by and have a laugh after shift. Felt a bit odd that he knew Louis was blowing their boss on a regular basis. 

Louis couldn’t be the only one, he thought not for the first time. Surely Harry was fucking other people. Maybe not other employees, Louis’ pretty sure he’d have noticed that, but there’s gotta be a ring of girls and boys Harry keeps in his palm for rainy days. He stares at the brick wall washed in neon light trying to calculate how often he sees Harry and how many other people there was time left for him to be with. He’s just about settled on a solid twelve when his thoughts scatter at the heft of the door.

Harry marches out and gives him a nod to follow. His shadow walks beside him. Louis’ never actually spoken with the guy, from what he gathers he’s Harry’s bodyguard or some such. Absolutely fits the part with a stoic face and enough muscle to sink a ship. Louis follows them to the back entrance and a sleek black SUV. It’s a bit cliche. If he weren’t shitting bricks he’d probably find it amusing. Mr. Mountain takes the front passenger while Harry slides into the back, leaving the seat open next to him. Louis climbs in with trepidation. 

He hasn’t been in Harry’s presence this long without someone getting off and he’s starting to think maybe this is how all the other employees disappeared. The string of his jumper is soaked where he’s chewed it without thinking, a nervous habit, and he tries to let it go without being noticed. Peaking to the side he realizes he’s failed epically, blushing because Harry’s staring right at him. 

“You’ve not met. Louis, this is Nathan,” he meets the drivers eyes in grim greeting in the rearview mirror, “and Liam.”

Louis tips his head at the plain featured man who halfheartedly turns to nod back. 

“Nice to know the name of the man most likely to kill ya,” he says because he was never one to beat around the bush.

“Only if H makes me stand outside another bloody paper thin shoebox. For the love of God,” he meets Louis’ eyes over the head rest, “please kick Niall out and use the office. It’s much more soundproof.” 

Louis cackles. Harry’s glaring out the window, a hand to his face so Louis can’t see if he’s smiling or not, but the relief of his untimely doom possibly being delayed has left him feeling giddy. 

“I’ll keep in mind, granted I’m sure there’s not much you haven’t heard at this point.”

Liam turns pointedly to Harry, “Trust me. At this point, I’ll be the one shooting at his back.”

It calms Louis a bit, the way those words have weight behind them that he can’t translate but Harry’s stiff shoulders say he sure gets the message. Louis glances between the two, wondering if Liam’s a brave or stupid man to threaten someone like Harry so blatantly, even jokingly, but the look Harry wears is more worn out than angry. 

“Don’t mind Liam,” Harry says, “he’s had a rough day.” 

“Rough decade when it comes to your brother,” Liam spits. 

“Liam,” Harry sighs, effectively ending the conversation. 

Louis lingers on Liam’s words. Brother. He hadn’t known Harry had one. He thinks the mystery brother must look something like Shawn. They have similar dimples and curly hair. Must be younger, otherwise Louis supposes it would be the brother running things. He slants a look at Harry, at the corner of his jaw, the curve of his ear, flare of his nose. Not once has he really put to question his age, but the absence of that knowledge strikes him now. There’s a real possibility he’s younger than Louis’ own twenty six, in fact he’s almost certain of it now that he’s looking. The fact settles quickly. Maybe Louis’ been around the sun a few more times than him, but it does nothing to change how Harry absolutely radiates power. 

Louis amuses himself trying to morph Harry’s face into a younger version his brother might wear, perhaps with a narrower face and shorter hair. Maybe they’re a rascal Liam has to babysit. He stifles an inappropriate laugh at the thought of Liam with a kid. The rest of the men are tense around him.

Harry leads him into a house on it’s way to becoming a mansion. It was once smooth gloss and minimalist design, now buried under layers of bold patterns and eclectic clutter. Liam’s made himself scarce, Louis doesn’t know if he even came into the house with them, but now it’s just him trailing after Harry’s quick pace through the open floor plan with something dark coiling in his stomach. There’s only one reason why he’d be brought back here. Delayed excitement thrums under his skin.

Harry’s face has been turned from Louis since they got out of the car. As he follows him into a large room he barely makes out the grim set of Harry’s features, reminiscent of the scowl he wore in the office. The room has a length of windows to one side, dim pool lights and watery reflections the only things lighting Harry as he peels off his jacket and sits legs spread on the edge of a massive bed in the middle of the empty room. Louis hovers just out of reach, one step away from being between Harry’s knees.

“You dance at my club.” Harry folds back the sleeves of his crisp shirt in neat movements with his eyes boring into Louis’. 

“I do,” he responds when it’s clear Harry doesn’t plan to continue. 

“Dance for me.” 

Louis would have rolled his eyes if there weren’t electricity running through his veins at the dark sound in Harry’s command. He toes out of his trainers lightly in a step back to give him space, breathing deeply in an attempt to settle his bones. The only thing more reliable than dance in his life is the heart in his chest, and so long as it beats he’ll continue to move his body in ways that allow him to forget everything else. His jumper glides off in a single move and he steps abruptly into Harry’s space, body rolling against his in a familiar flow which mimics the ripples of light around the room. Harry’s hands still his hips.

“No,” ice shoots through Louis at the brisk sound of the word. Harry’s stern face is inches away, “Dance for me.” 

Each word slowly enunciated and Louis thinks he misunderstands, surely, but Harry’s firm fingers leave his waist as the man leans back on the bed. Louis tugs at his hair. 

“It’s been awhile,” he hates the pressure in his chest that causes him to fumble the excuse, the nerves he never feels in front of hundreds of people that this pair of eyes has managed to bring out in him. Harry simply nods for him to go on. 

He pulls up the elastic bottoms of his joggers so they sit just below the knee, suddenly grateful he still has his ankle socks on and he slips them half off his feet. He rolls his ankles once, twice, not meeting Harry’s eyes as he finds a rough fourth position. It’s always a bit harder without music, and it’s harder still with his heart pounding. Dance. He breathes in. Dance. 

With his exhale his body falls into it. Painted in gentle waves he courses through steps ingrained into the fibre of his being. He flies into jumps and spots blindly into the dark room and crosses the expanse of floor in powerful grace. He finds a natural end to step forward and take a kneel. Vaguely he’s aware he was horrible. He’s damn lucky he already worked a full shift and his muscles are loose, but it was no compensation for the lack of proper warm up and ill footwear. It barely renders. All he sees is the man whose legs he kneels panting between. 

Harry has already unbuttoned his trousers. Fingers steady Louis' cheek and move past to twine into his sweaty hair. Louis' rolls his head into to the hold with eyes closing at the heady feel of calloused fingertips digging into his scalp. Slowly he's guided in and he sees Harry didn’t wear anything beneath.

With much more confidence than the first time he licks a broad path upwards, savouring the salty taste of the tip before sinking down. Harry keeps a solid hand gripped in his hair as Louis loses himself in the rhythm of sucking him. He whines as the fingers tighten painfully and pull him off. Automatically he licks his swollen bottom lip and watches as Harry stands. He picks himself up seconds before strong hands grab his waist and shove him onto the bed. They push at him in the dim light until he’s belly down on his knees, face pressed into a suffocating duvet.

Harry tears Louis’ joggers impatiently and Louis shivers at the sudden air across his heated skin. Hot hands roughly grab his hips, pulling them higher and backwards until he feels the tacky press of Harry’s cock right between his cheeks. 

“Fuck,” comes a deep grunt behind him and Louis’ inclined to agree, half mad with idea of letting himself be torn apart. He breathes wetly against the sheets as the body behind him vanishes. A floating feeling takes over him in the darkness until a hand presses to the small of his back. Harry hums something to him and Louis cuts off the whine he hadn’t realized he was making. Wet and smooth and finally a finger presses.

“More,” he breathes before it’s proper in.

“Yeah? Just like that?” 

Harry doesn’t wait for an answer before another finger joins, and two pumps later a third. Louis groans at the stretch and tries to move down into it before it disappears. He cries out in protest, but there’s still a hand on him and quickly the solid heat of Harry’s dick glides along his crack until it pauses, heavy, right at his rim. Slow but insistent it sinks in and Louis closes his eyes to focus on breathing as he breaks out into a sweat, overwhelmed. Drowning. 

Harry fucks into him relentlessly, low curses spilling from his mouth that Louis can barely hear under his own gasping and at some point he’s pleading, absolutely begging and he has no idea what he’s asking. Harry tilts his hips and a hand in his hair presses Louis deeper into the mattress. Instantly a coil of fire starts tightening in his stomach until it consumes every inch of him. 

“Harry, shit Harry, I’m-” he’s cut off by his own orgasm abruptly ripping through him in blazing white heat. Harry fucks him through it, picking up the pace. 

He pulls out and Louis hears his name ground through teeth just as he feels Harry come all over his back. For a moment the world settles, their heavy breathing the only sound as the come starts to pool in the small of his back, a few fingers smearing it like they’re trying to press it into his skin. 

The warmth of Harry behind him disappears in a blink and Louis feels like his strings have been cut. He sinks into the plush duvet, not minding the wet spot beneath him for the moment of reprise it gives his strung out muscles to simply be heavy. Through bleary eyes he catches the outline of Harry. Dark ink moves along his skin as he walks aways. It’s the first time Louis’ seen him naked.

He flinches in surprise at the warm cloth wiping down his back, between his thighs, lets himself be turned over. His eyelids are concrete, impossible to lift despite his efforts. The damp joggers are pulled all the way off and he stretches his legs out luxuriously with a sigh.

A mouth meets his. Slow but insistent. Louis enjoys the pleasant push and pull of a tongue against his until he manages to return the kiss with more vigour. Suddenly he’s pressed down on his back with Harry’s weight over him, the friction of Harry’s skin against his intoxicating and he grinds into it. He lets himself be pulled into the man’s strong hold once more. 

Louis presses his face into the cloud it’s currently resting on and groans in protest at the brightness of the world. Every muscle sings along when he tries to stretch and he lets out another muffled plea to the universe. Rubbing his face into the pillow he realizes with certainty that it is not the fuzzy flannel he’s used to. Delicately he squints into the blinding room. Everything is white and reflects the streaming sunlight from a wall of floor to ceiling windows at the foot of the bed. It’s like being in a high end magazine or display case, not a personal item in sight, nor another person for that matter. Only one matters, and Louis focuses on hearing for any clue as to where Harry might be. Nothing. 

He picks himself up slowly on reluctant muscles. His clothes are piled neatly on the floor and he tugs them on gingerly. Stepping into the rest of the house is like entering a different world, one made of every colour known to man and then some. Louis’ mouth quirks as he spots Harry across the open concept space, sitting at the breakfast bar in a new extravagantly patterned suit that matches the rest of the decor. 

The driver, Nathan, picks them up in the same SUV as the night before and takes them back to the club where Louis’ car is still parked. The morning has been pleasant, if a little silent, but Louis barely has the energy to be concerned given the fact that he’s had rather more of a nap than an actual sleep. He steps out of the parked vehicle without a word. Usually their parting contains more tongue than vowels, but he thinks last night more than covered that front. 

“Louis,” he turns to the rolled down window and can’t get a read off of Harry’s face behind his sunglasses, “Nathan will be picking you up from now on. Tuesdays.” 

The SUV pulls away without a moment for him to respond. Tuesdays. Louis doesn’t work Tuesdays. Which means he’ll have to drive to the club only to be picked up and driven somewhere else. Waste of time, or it would be if it were for any other reason. 

As it so happens he quickly grows rather fond of Tuesdays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would be absolutely, positively darling to hear what you think so far. Sometimes it's hard to know if it's even legible without a lil feedback. 
> 
> so much love to all of you xxoo


	3. Siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've posted a fic as I've written it. Kinda weird. Kinda exciting. I'm writing pretty quickly and not reviewing anywhere near as much as I have for my other stories in the past. Sorry if it's a little lack luster or choppy due to that. 
> 
> Also. Sorry about the mash of Americanism and Britishist. This is what you get for being from the not-french part of Canada.  
> Try measuring something. It's a disaster. If you are wondering if I've set this in America or GB just know that even I do not know. It is wherever you like it to be. And I can not write Louis without hearing his accent. Truly impossible not to include.

It’s Friday. Maybe. Fuck, who cares. 

Louis is riding a high of performance adrenaline on a hoop, leaning in to every stretch the positions demand with the calming ease of ritual. Acrobatics took awhile for him, lyra and bar fine enough although he drew the line at silks when he fell onto the mat more than his bruised dignity and ass could take. The efforts paid off in tenfold, if only for the thrill of being high and out of reach. Bending into the bottom curve gives him a view of the floor, Bebe on her own hoop across from him and the tall figure of Shawn mingling with a put together guest. In particular Louis takes in the man standing by a booth, underlit in morphing neon tones. Louis closes his eyes with the sweet image of raw hunger on Harry's face embossed on his mind. He twists into a new pose. He doesn’t let himself look down for the rest of night. By the end of his shift the outline of broad shoulders and tangled waves is still there, settled in a seat. 

Giddiness makes him light on his toes, an impish grin on his face he couldn’t wipe away if he tried. His body is thrumming. Rounding the corner his eyes meet Harry’s instantly and their brightness puts a little more sway into Louis’ saunter. He falters when Harry adjusts to reveal a phone raised to his face, unsure how welcome a second set of ears would be on the type of conversations Harry must hold, but the man inclines his head, smile going crooked like a dare for Louis to come closer. Louis doesn’t back down from the challenge. 

“Really ‘ought to have thought that out, Nicholas,” Harry says into the phone as Louis slides into the booth and under the arm draped across it. Immediately Harry’s fingers find their way to the back of his neck in a firm grip, a surprised snort of laughter Louis’ never heard before preluding his response, “You’re known for your way with words, after all.” 

Louis’ bare foot finds Harry’s ankle under the table and hooks around it playfully. Harry hums, at the phone or at the hand Louis places on his thigh he can’t be sure. Louis looks coyly from under his eyelashes with a childish glee at his own cheek, enjoying the quirk of Harry’s lips as he raises an eyebrow in time with Louis’ hand rising on his thigh. 

“Hm, something needs handling, Grimmy. Speak soon.” Harry turns to slide his phone into a pocket near his waist and smoothly takes hold of Louis between the legs. “It’s not Tuesday,” his brows crease like he’s confused how Louis has suddenly appeared, but the glint in his eyes and the press of his thumb through thin leggings gives him away. Not to mention how Louis’ been watched for the better part of the night, and yet Harry’s got the nerve to continue, “We must be feeling rather desperate.”

The grip on Louis’ neck locks him in place, and god damn, how does Harry so effectively manage to make the edges of his vision turn soft. Harry’s hand under the table slowly strokes him. 

“Saw you on my way, didn’t want to pass without a hello. S’rude.” It’s a struggle for Louis to keep his voice even. 

Finally he’s graced with a full dimple as Harry leans in close, “That what this is? A hello?” 

Louis’ about to shake right out of his skin with how maddeningly slow and muted the friction of Harry’s hand is, and he plans on doing something about it like possibly dropping trou and letting the man jerk him propper, when a voice pierces through the fog. 

“Harry,” cut sharp like a curse word and Harry freezes like he’s been stabbed with it. 

“Quite busy at the moment,” Harry speaks while still facing Louis, all playfulness vanished. 

“I’m sure your sex toy can amuse itself.”

The hands leave Louis so quickly he feels the room spin. Harry leans back into the booth with both arms spread along the tops of the seat, an arrogant lol to his head and a distasteful sneer settled on his features. The man at the end of the table has close shorn hair and more ink than dark skin. A bell rings in Louis’ mind. 

“And to what do I owe such a visit?”

“Answer your piece of shit phone and you'd know,” and there, the set of his jaw as he turns away with a jerk for Harry to follow clicks into place. Louis saw him tearing out of the office a few weeks ago. The thick eyelashes are what do the job of reminding him, really. Louis' not often jealous. 

The thought is easily dismissed by the more urgent matter on hand: his dick. Or rather, how he’s going to be stuck with his own hand judging by Harry’s grinding teeth as he watches where the man disappeared. He tilts his head at Louis contemplatively. Brushes his knuckles across Louis’ cheek and lets his thumb be caught by his bottom lip. Louis parts his mouth just enough to tease, knowing it’s in vain. 

“A damn shame,” Harry sighs and he’s out of reach before Louis can close his mouth. The darkness of the club swallows him quickly, Liam melting out of the shadows to join him and giving Louis a shock. He hopes Harry pays him well. 

Louis flops back into the buttery soft leather and groans with a hand on the throbbing between his legs. 

It takes a long time for him to be capable of crossing the floor with any dignity. The neon blue of the back hallway seems too close to home and an ironic laugh bubbles out of him at his own situation while he makes his way to the change rooms. He lets the water run hot in his post-shift shower, thankful for the classy private stalls Harry’s money provides for the employees. Sated but not completely happy, he wanders to his locker and frowns at the balled up articles he finds. Shit, is it really time to do laundry again?

He throws on the least offensive of the mix and jams the rest in his pack with a bit of tetris skill and sheer will. Zipper near splitting he closes the now empty locker door and turns out. Music seeps through the walls, the establishment still open for another few hours, but Louis’ had something on his mind for a while now and surely Niall’s in a good mood if Harry’s around. 

His hands twist in the straps over his shoulders while he leans into the office, blinking to adjust from oversaturated blue to the warm glow of the lamps scattered in corners. He never fully understood why the decor shifted so drastically in this room until he’d set foot in Harry’s living room. They were of a kind, Elton John would be proud. Niall is draped in the chair behind the desk, arms akimbo and neck painfully arched. Louis snorts, wondering how long he’s been like this, waiting for someone to notice his despair. 

“You dead?”

“Bloody well may be,” Niall groans and both his hands cover his face in an exhausted manner. 

Louis huffs a laugh, “I’ll start digging the hole. Don’t think you’ll quite fit in the boot, might have to go in pieces.”

“I’m going to tear the cunt bastard to pieces, I tell you what,” Niall says in a way Louis starts to think isn’t joking. Niall straightens in the chair only to slump over the desk with his head in his hands, “grateful everyday my mother turned barren after me. Only thing a brother seems good for is raising hell.” 

Louis narrows his eyes. He wonders if Harry’s brother made an appearance, did something to offend Niall like drinking his perfectly poured pre-shift pint. Louis likes living so he keeps his mouth shut. Now is not the time to ask about switching shifts. 

“See ya round,” he chirps and leaves Niall to his misery. 

Louis’ kicking pebbles when Nathan pulls into the parking lot that Tuesday. There’s not a lot to the driver besides excellent taste in music, which they periodically discuss in short sentences. Most weeks the drive passes without a word exchanged as some obscure pop band plays through the speakers. Louis strolls past the front gate without seeing another soul, the front door opening easily under his palm. 

The house is empty, yet he’s got no allusions to thinking there aren’t several pairs of eyes on him, he’s used to the feeling. Not the first, nor the last time he assumes, he arrives before the property’s owner. He settles on the living room floor in a warm glow. The room earns its name, feeling the most lived in despite a fine layer of dust on several of its bold surfaces. For lack of anything better to fill the wait he stretches out with the pleasant thought that he won't be the only one to benefit from it. By the time he’s finished there’s still no sign of Harry. He helps himself to a glass of water, another, moves through a second set of stretches, then goes to take a piss. 

Fluffy towels he’s semi-familiar with sit fresh on a shelf next to a heavenly rainfall shower that he eyes while flushing. What the hell, his pants are already down, and the thought of Harry finding him wet and naked gives him a thrill. The soap smells faintly of lavender. He takes his time to lather it on every inch of skin and works out the tangles of his hair with the expensive products in glass bottles. Rather reluctantly he steps out when his fingertips start to crease. 

Not bothering to redress he falls into the ginormous bed, savouring the duvet he dreams of nearly as often as he does Harry’s cock up his ass. The room is bathed in the watery glow of the pool below, a now comforting rhythm of motion that lulls Louis into sleep. 

Quick footsteps in heeled shoes warn him seconds before the bedroom door opens. 

“Fuck.”

It’s said below breath, not in pleasant surprise but rather the way one reacts to remembering a forgotten appointment they’re already late for. Louis stays motionless, letting Harry decide what comes next. The shoes move quietly towards the bed and Louis is prepared to be yanked out and disappear. Instead items mutedly drop onto the bedside table and the shoes head towards the ensuite. Louis peers through slitted eyes to catch a glimpse of Harry’s shadowy figure stripping quickly. The shower comes to life. 

Louis lets his eyes slip back closed, soothed by the running water. He doesn’t register dozing until warm skin presses against the entire length of his body, pushing a moan of delight from having a very naked Harry on top of him. Sharp teeth nip at the exposed back of his neck and when he presses his hips up they sink a little too deep into his neck. He barely has time to gasp at the quick flash of pain before it’s gone, unyielding hands turn him onto his back.

“Show me,” Harry murmurs against his lips, pressing in for a small bite that turns into a ruthless open mouth kiss, “how much did you miss me?”

So Louis does. Legs wrapped tight around Harry’s waist he puts on a show beneath Harry’s fervent stare. His own hand is fine, but it’s not what he wants. What he needs. 

“Please,” he gasps with eyes squeezed shut and head knocked back, “Please, please,” Harry’s mouth on his jaw interrupts him. 

“Please what, hm?” 

Frustrated tears gather in the corner of his eyes. He looks down at the glaring head of his cock between his cramping fist, looks at the burning eyes above him. 

“Please fuck me, please, shit-” his breath hitches as Harry stills his wrist and pulls it away, gathering both of Louis’ hands above his head. Louis sobs at the loss of friction and his dick jerks as pre-come drips down. His ribs can’t hold enough air as he squirms beneath Harry in search of relief. Harry likes it when he gets like this, likes to witness Louis saying stupid shit that'll get him fucked, but at this point it just seems cruel. The bastards doing nothing but watching. 

After a century one of Harry’s hands presses at his entrance, the way slicked with lube Louis doesn’t care where from, and two fingers press in at once. It’s not what he needs, but it’s something, and Louis groans at the stretch. There aren't enough thrusts to build a rhythm before the fingers curl and the heat that had been simmering in his veins starts to boil. 

It's absolutely endless. He's openly crying, chest heaving at the stimulation that’s intense and yet not enough. Tears stream down the side of his face and his wrists strain against the cage of Harry’s one handed grip and Louis' thinks somehow he's made it into hell. 

“Harry,” and it’s all he can manage, stuck on his lips like a prayer as his stomach clenches and he needs it, he needs to come so bad it's agony. One second with a hand around his dick is all it would take. Harry leans harder onto the arm holding Louis wrists down and keeps his own fingers torturously working him. 

“So desperate,” Harry croons like a praise.

Louis blinks tears out of the way to focus on is Harry’s face, his green eyes unwavering as they take in every messy detail.

He’s halfway through cursing Harry’s name when Harry's thumb puts pressure just under his balls and the breath is knocked out of him like a sucker punch, orgasm ripping through him painfully. The world around him disappears as he relearns how to breathe. 

Come is cooling on his trembling belly by the time Harry swipes a palm through it and uses the same hand to guide himself in. 

“Fuck Louis, no idea,” Harry snaps his hips into Louis worn out body, “no idea what you do to me.” 

He’s vicious about it and Louis can’t decide whether to pull away in overstimulation or relish the feel of Harry finailly filling him the way he’s been desperate for. Harry finishes before Louis chooses. Fingers sloppily push the leaking come back in until Louis flinches violently at too much-too much and Harry lets him be. 

After his breathing has returned to a less concerning rate Louis convinces himself to roll off the bed, regretting the glasses of water he chugged earlier. He takes a moment to stabilize himself during the massive head rush. 

He’s half blind in the dark and doesn’t dare fiddle with the switches he’s never taken the time to familiarize with, too many for a washroom if you ask him, but he doesn’t need much more than the moonlight to notice Harry’s clothes crumpled next to his own by the shower. Black patches of splatter stand out in contrast to their lustrous silk shine. Halfway through emptying his bladder it clicks. Blood. He glances down at the pool of silk again. A lot of blood. 

Harry’s line of work isn’t a secret to him, so Louis’ not sure why his chest suddenly feels tight. He swallows whatever it is down and tugs at his hair while walking back to the bed. His hand finds the back of his neck and presses curiously at the dull ache he’d forgotten about, no doubt ready to bloom into the shape of Harry’s mouth in the next few days. He’s not sure how to feel about it, so like the rest he ignores it. Harry pays him to dance, and Louis enjoys the sex on the side, and that’s all that ties them together. Whatever else the enigmatic man does is none of Louis’ fucking business. 

In the watery dark he slips silently under the duvet behind Harry’s back. The man twists leisurely to face him, tugging until Louis’ turns over and aligns to be a tightly held little spoon, an arm fixed around him like a vice. In the pale shadows Louis almost believes the rush of Harry’s breath is the sound of the ocean. 

Night air pierces through the jumper he’d put on in the naive hope it would be enough to protect him from the dropping temperatures. It chills the sweat on the back of his neck and the hand he lifts his lighter with is shaking. Quickly he sucks in a lung full of smoke and rubs his nose with the back of his thumb. The backside of the club isn’t what he’d typically call an alley, more like an exterior hallway, tiled like Louis’ only seen in a similar posh driveway and lit in the fancy way that makes it seem like there are no lights. 

He doesn’t turn at the sound of the sound of the door beside him opening, just digs out his pack and a cig for Shawn he almost holds out before realizing it’s not the kid standing beside him, but Harry. He jumps so badly he nearly drops both smokes. Harry plucks the extra one from his fingers. Jittery with cold and surprise Louis stuffs his hands into the deep pocket of his sweater, brain scrambling. Thursday? It’s possibly Friday or Thursday, he’s too cold to choose what sounds most right, but definitely not Tuesday. Other than the odd quickie he hasn't made a habit of, Harry’s not usually around anymore now that their activities have been relocated to his bedroom. And pool. And occasionally his fancy ass kitchen. So it's odd to see the man already blowing out smoke when Louis glances back at him. 

They don’t speak. Slowly Louis stops expecting him to, he knows how to enjoy a smoke without talking, thanks much. He does have to catch himself from asking about Liam, but he figures the guy has ninja skills unfair for his size, he's probably lurking on a rooftop somewhere close. By the time he’s near the filter Harry’s voice drags him out of the menial variations of ‘It’s cold as tits’ running through his mind. 

“You’re a good dancer.” Louis narrows his eyes, but Harry’s not looking at him, he’s looking at the cigarette half ash in his fingers. The silence carries on until Harry stares blase at his quizzical look. “You trained most your life in ballet.” 

Louis tosses the filter and grinds it under his shoe. 

“Yep, all there in my file. Sure y’seen it.” He shrugs, unable to keep the weary edge out of his voice. 

Harry likes to play games, but usually the trajectory is easy to follow. It’s not easy when Harry’s still standing several metres away and making no moves to come closer. Louis twsits his numb hands in his pocket and wishes Harry would hurry the fuck up with whatever it is he wants to say. 

“The smoking wont help your stamina,” Harry muses and Louis rolls his eyes. Of all the people to judge him for unhealthy life choices, Harry really thinks he’s got a leg to stand on?

“Don’ really give a damn. Started young and stupid, and I might not be too young anymore but not much else has changed.” 

Harry’s lips thin and he flicks his half smoked butt into the dark. 

“You have siblings?”

The question flares up unwanted memories of a toddler screaming his name over the sound of baby Fizzy crying. He’d been nine when his parents died in a car crash. Families wanting to adopt little baby girls weren't too keen on bringing along the baggage of an uncooperative pre-teen boy. He’s stopped counting the years since he last seen them.

“What is this Harry?” Louis looks away and stomps his feet a little to work blood into his toes, “You got a point? I’m freezing my balls off.”

Louis nearly trips over himself when Harry appears inches from him, the idle look on his face replaced by a coldness that has nothing to with the wind. 

“You ever see my brother, turn the other way. Understood?” His eyes flick over Louis’ face until he manages to give a jerky nod. Alright, yeah. Avoid whatever brat of a kid brother he's got, Louis can do that. Harry pulls away and brandishes a new cig out his own pocket. The first inhale lowers his shoulders, settling nearly back into the easy stance he had before if it weren’t for the lingering tightness in his eyes. He blows smoke out smoothly. “Honestly, I trust Niall more, and he’s Irish.” 

The side glance he gives Louis undermines the lightness of his voice. 

Louis nods, “Understood.” 

Then he ducks back into the neon yellow light of club's back hallway and rests his forehead against the cool brick wall, deep breaths helping push down the urge to punch something. The fists he presses into the brick are shaking with the need for another cigarette. 

Louis is in the middle of breakfast, which would be considered by most people lunch or really an early dinner given the number on the clock, but the nocturnal hours give him the excuse for four o’clock toaster waffles. It also explains why he’s in boxers when he opens the apartment door to find two uniformed cops. The lady is in front and Louis thinks that’s cute, let the woman do the talking while the dude behind crosses his arms and looks tough.

“Good evening,” and Louis rolls his eyes because it’s afternoon at best, alright, and he’s a bachelor. Boxers are totally acceptable when you live by yourself. “This is the current residence of Louis Tomlinson?”

“Yah, you found ‘im mate,” it’s not until the words leave his lips that fear spikes his heart rate. He hasn’t seen the girls in years, they couldn’t- surely they’re not-

“You're currently employed by-”

“The girls okay?” He wasn’t really following what they were saying given the ringing in his ears, “Felicite and Charlotte, this isn’t about them?” 

The coppers glance at each other and Louis wants to gouge their eyes out for taking so long to reply.

“No, sir. We’re here to inquire about your current employment situation. Did you know there’s an ongoing investigation into the owner of your workplace?”

Louis lets go of the air he was holding and slumps against the door frame in a shrug. He didn’t know, not that it surprises him. Not that he cares. 

“These are severe allegations of human trafficking. Any information you have could be of use.”

Louis blinks slow,“Who you speaking ‘bout?” 

“Your current employer, Harry Styles.” 

"Right..." He draws the word out as his mind simultaneously freezes and goes into overdrive. 

She looks at him imploringly, like he's gonna spill his guts out on the floor for her. Harry? Oh yeah, about this tall and good with his hands. Louis tugs at his hair. It’s getting bloody long again.

After a moment where he fails to fill the silence the lady cop continues, “We were hoping you could answer a few questions concerning-”

“Don’t know what you’re coming to me for, never met the guy.” He forces a tight lipped smile. 

The cops share another look between them like a cliche conversation without words. Louis' hand tightens around the door frame. Do not punch cops, Louis. He learned that lesson through trial and error in the foster system. 

“Sir, we have information stating you’ve been seen in his company on several-”

“Don’t know the lad. Cheers.” 

The door slams shut and he waits. Either they have a warrant and will break in to arrest him, or they won't. Eventually footsteps trail away and it does nothing to ease the ringing that’s returned to his ears. Trafficking. 

Surely not. Harry’s a criminal, yeah. There are a lot of things that fall under criminal activity: drugs, weapons, black market business of all kinds. Louis had assumed in a vague and undefined way he never truly thought about that Harry’s money and power came from one or several of these things but not… not people. 

Every moment Harry’s hands have touched him passes through his mind. The way he says Louis’ name as he comes and presses it into his skin. The fingers around his throat. 

He barely manages to throw himself in front of the toilet before the first rush of bile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I plan for there to be smut in every chapter? Nah, but are we really complaining?  
> If it's any condolence there probably wont be in the next one given how Louis' feeling right now... 
> 
> Thoughts! Gimme your thoughts! 
> 
> (Please and thank you)


	4. Socked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How, many, commas, can, we, use, in, a, sentence? In this essay I will…
> 
> .

After the cops leave his doorway Louis spends the evening talking himself into showing up for work and adding to the collection of cigarette butts on his apartment fire escape. If he doesn’t show Niall will call him, and he doesn’t know if he could get away with some half-assed excuse on a man he considers in most ways a friend. That way of thinking is confusing though, because Niall works for Harry, and has worked for him much longer than he’s known Louis. So if Harry’s really… Well whatever he’s doing, Niall’s a part of it. They’re all in on it. His stomach twists and he’s rather grateful there’s nothing left in it. 

By the time it’s well and truly dark he slips into the club quietly, glad for his small stature and the skill he’s acquired for walking feather light, unseen on the edges of the room. Neon lights and low bass do nothing to distract his mind.

Allegations. What did that even mean? Did they have proof, or were they throwing something out there and hoping it would stick? Why would they come to Louis’ door? They must have spoken to someone else. Louis’ eyes scan through the dark room and linger over every face, a handful of known employees and regulars, but too many to count remain nameless. Harry didn’t usually approach him at work anymore, a few quick exceptions here and there, but since they’re scheduled Tuesdays Louis has spent every hour he was being paid earning it on the floor. Who saw them together?

Had they shown him their badges? He can’t recall. He’d been too worried about it having something to do with girls, and then he’d spent most of his focus not punching them in their condescending little faces. Secrets get you killed in this world, that much he knows. Goddamnit, if it’s a test then he needs to make a decision. Quickly. 

After possibly the worst shift of his career Louis is no closer to quelling the uncertainty buzzing like a hornets nest in the pit of his stomach and his annoyance for having to keep flicking hair out of his eyes is not helping. Filled with unsettled energy he slaps the door to the back hall open, pissed off for no particular reason to find it orange. Why can’t they just fucking choose a colour and be done with it. 

Not until he’s swiped his hair back from his face does he see Liam standing guard outside of the office, and that’s great. Perfect. Harry’s here. And because Louis has a penchant for making bad decisions he leans against the wall opposite of the good little soldier. The cool brick raises goosebumps on the bare skin of his back.

“Don’t tell me, Harry’s finally taken your advice and moved on with Niall.” 

Liam’s face is more impassive than a Buckingham Guard. Although he’d been right, the office walls do muffle sound much better than a storeroom, it doesn’t stop Louis from catching the muted cacophony of chaos that erupted behind it’s door, something falling or being thrown before the booming of male voices escalates. Louis’ eyebrows lift in surprise. Maybe he’d been spot on, but he hadn’t taken Niall for the aggressive type. 

Liam gives him a bone, “Family reunion.” 

As if on cue the door flies open. 

“Zayn,” Louis’ never heard Harry’s voice cut like that, filled with rage. 

A man, the gangster with the pretty eyelashes, rips past Louis and Liam and out of sight. Louis looks into the office and sees Niall leaning against the desk with crossed arms and an absolutely livid Harry. They are the room's only occupants. Louis looks back at where the man stormed off. Zayn. He feels like he’s being tricked. 

That guy? He’s supposed to believe the walking tattoo advertisement that looks like he’s never seen a dimple in his life is Harry’s brother? 

He shakes his head and breathes through his nose. Okay, sure, go with it Louis. Don’t ask questions, do what you’re told, get the fuck out of here once the chances of a bullet to the back is less then ninety percent. As soon as the thought crosses his mind he realises it’s his only real option. He needs to get out.

Given the pile of objects on the floor next to the barren desktop behind Niall and the current distressed state of Harry’s clothing, Louis is less than enthused about voluntarily approaching him. He pushes away from the wall to stand straight anyway. He has to do it. Secrets get you killed, but messengers didn’t get their fair chances either. He rolls the dice and catches Harry’s wild eyes.

“Gotta speak with you.”

Harry flicks his eyes away to fix the button of his low cut shirt, “Not now.”

Harry continues to straighten his clothes until they’re back in their usual impeccable shape. 

Louis puts force behind his voice, “Harry.”

The man brushes past, Liam in his steps. Louis grinds his teeth while watching them go. 

A chuckle comes from the office where Niall’s bent down to retrieve an intact crystal glass. He places it on the empty desk while going round to snatch a bottle from one of the drawers. He pours as he speaks.

“Sorry to be the one to tell you, but there’s more important things than cock sucking.” He shoots Louis a stupid smile. 

“Piss off.” 

Louis shrugs off to the showers. Niall’s words make his gums itch. Maybe because Louis’ started questioning their friendship. Maybe because, although being judged about his lifestyle isn’t exactly new, he’s never felt degraded when talking to him. Possibly he’s over sensitive because Harry’s brush off stings, but that can’t be it because he doesn’t give a damn what Harry does. 

But he does, this tiny needle of a thought reminds him. It’s completely absurd due to the decent part of Louis that’s utterly repulsed by the man. And yet, part of him still wants to feel the weight of those eyes and know he’s got their full attention. For them to sweep past like he was nothing more than a part of the decor was infuriating.

Frustration builds as he rushes through his post-shift ritual, not bothering to dry off before shoving his clothes on.

“Looking a little tense, Louis.” Shawn calls as he swaggers in and comes to lean against the locker next to him. “Blonde gave me something might take the edge off,” he taps a small ziplocked bag. 

“Get that shit out of my face,” Louis snarls and yanks everything from his locker onto the floor. He can’t believe Shawn would dare bring something in here when Niall was known to throw fists if he suspected someone was using anywhere near the place.

Shawn chuckles and tucks it away, “Okay, okay. You at least wanna go for a smoke before heading out?” 

Louis pauses long enough to whip a crumpled pack from the mess of his belongings at Shawn’s head. 

“All right, jeez. Hey,” he pouts down at the crumpled cardboard, “it’s empty.”

“Get your own fucking smokes then.” 

Shawn raises his hands innocently and Louis’ had about enough of him, enough of everybody, so it’s a blessing when he glances back and sees the kid smartly vanished. Louis throws everything in his bag, jerks around in a hasty check nothing’s left in a corner of some change room or stuck under a seat, and jams damp feet into his shoes when he can’t find any bloody socks. 

He blows through the back exit. A short walk across the way he’s got his car parked in an employee slot. The tail lights flash in greeting as he uses the fob in his pocket, the one not holding his phone. Fuck Harry for being a bastard, fuck Niall and his fucking smarmy smile, fuck Liam because fuck everybody, that’s why. A growl of annoyance escapes as he shrugs off his bag and reaches for the car door. 

His hand never reaches the handle. 

Weight comes down on his shoulders and drags him down with a shove like a trainwreck. The side of his face slams into the unforgiving pavement when his hands are too slow to catch him. The world spins. There’s no time to react before a heavy boot gets him in the ribs, knocking his breath and any hope of yelling for help out of him. Louis’s palms scrabble frantically in blind effort to get himself out of reach, but his assailant grabs him by the wet strands of his hair and drags him in. He’s too focussed on trying to twist out of the iron hold to see one of the boots his chest had been acquainted with earlier come down on his leg. With a crack it crushes his ankle. 

Louis yells at the hot white pain. He stills, pinned and panting in pain. 

“He took the wrong girl.” 

Louis flinches at the spit the venomous words carry. A punch lands across the cut side of his face and he jerks with it, nausea intensifying. 

“All his pretty things are gonna disappear until my sister is back. Starting with you.” Louis gives a small cry as he’s dropped, curling into himself after another brutal kick to the chest. “First, you’ve got a message to deliver.” 

Louis can’t tell which direction the guy disappears in, can’t even see past the blood dripping into his eyes. He lays in a pathetic heap and presses his raw fingertips into the ground in an attempt to keep it beneath him. The stupid thing, the stupidist thing, is that his phone is still in his pocket. He takes shallow breaths that shoot pain into his ribs. He’s been outside for five minutes, most. 

Several attempts later his fingers stutter across the screen in the right places to pull up the number he needs. With a wince he holds the device to the ear he can still hear from. It rings seven times, each one like a sonic boom inside his head.

“Niall,” he croaks, interrupting whatever greeting or joke he hadn’t followed, “I’m out back. I need… “ his breath hitches on a particularly potent throb from his chest, “I need help.”

Louis manages to push himself up against the tyre of his car by the time the clubs’ back door spills out orange light and Niall. His boss peers into the dark for a moment before lowering his gaze to find Louis on the ground.

“Holy son of a bitch.”

Yeah, that about sums it up. 

Niall gets him to his feet with a filthy amount of cursing from the both of them. Louis leans heavily into his side, his left foot not completely useless but it sure isn’t happy about carrying more weight than absolutely necessary. In a slow progression where Louis alternates chanting to himself not to throw up or pass out Niall leads them to the office and settles him on the leather couch. Louis closes his eyes to fight against a wave of nausea. Niall’s voice floats around him. Must be… Must be on the phone… 

“Louis,” he tries to blink his eyes open while fingers snap near his face, “oi, Louis. Give this a go, yeah? Gotta stay awake.”

A plastic water bottle is pressed into his hands and he gets a decent portion of it down his shirt. He struggles to force down whatever succeeded in finding his mouth. Pain pulses through him when he chokes and that is enough of that. He pours some water into his cut up palm and splashes it onto his face, but it’s not enough and his shirt is already a lost cause so he dumps more water onto his stomach and uses the soaking fabric to wipe the blood out of his eye. The gash on his brow is still oozing, he can feel it running down the side of his face, but it’s slower now. Finally his vision is clear enough to see Niall bent close in front of him, eyes scanning Louis’ face with a grimace. 

“Really buggered you up.” Niall doesn’t mince his words. 

A bark of laughter escapes Louis and he groans at the jolt it gives his ribs. The water to the face helped him shake the drowsiness, but things still aren’t normal. He can smell the alcohol on Niall’s breath and when he glances over the crystal glass from earlier still stands half full on the desk. Louis remembers watching him pour it. Was that really so recently?

“Here, candy for ya,” three pills drop into his hand. Louis winces them down. 

Niall disappears, back before Louis thinks to search for where he went and he catches sight of the bright red kit in his hands. Louis considers how often he’s seen Niall bend rules and doesn’t know if he trusts the man with something like healthcare. He supposes he doesn’t have many options though, so he doesn’t speak up when Niall tosses the thing between Louis’ feet and crouches down in front of him again, adjusting to throw his phone next to it when he mutes a call. 

“You got clippers in there?”

“Suppose so,” Niall glances at the kit like he’s never seen one before, really instilling confidence with a shrug, ”why?”

Louis smooths the wet tangle of hair back from his face and feels the echo of the severe grip that held him down. 

As casually as possible he says, “Overdue for a trim.”

Niall snorts like it’s a joke while he snaps on a pair of gloves. He uses stinging alcohol wipes on Louis’ torn palms, none too careful about digging around to get out the tiny pebbles lodged in them. When he goes for the mark on his face Louis tilts his head down so he can get to it fully. On the floor Niall’s phone lights up as a call comes in. Even upside down the four faces in the contact photo are familiar, Niall and Harry got arms around each other in the middle with Zayn and Liam standing to the sides, ecstatic grins all around. 

“Where’s that?” 

Niall’s hands don’t stop rubbing grime off his face, “Grand re-opening of the club when Harry rebranded. Hired you not long after.” 

Were they actually that young once? Louis twitches his fingers while doing the math and concludes he’s been with the club for four years. Had he looked like that, too? He squints at the image. He really hopes not, they look like children. Louis stares at the phone until it goes dark, the call missed. 

“You known him awhile, then?” The words come out as he thinks them, not really planned. They’ve never spoken about it. 

“Harry? Yeah, school mates. Picked up Liam not long after.” Niall says distractedly as he works on painfully cleaning out the cut just the same way he’d done Louis’ hands. Neither mention the tears still slowly tracking down his cheeks.

Louis chews the bright spot on his lip where it’s split. He’s spent his life not asking questions, perhaps he’s used up all his self control. 

“Zayn?”

He winces at a particularly vicious prod from Niall, who finally pulls away.

“Package deal. Not a lot we could do about him.” Niall rolls his eyes and speaks around a bandage wrapper he tears open aggressively with his teeth. He spits out the torn end. “Simon adopted them young, he’s the one Harry inherited it all from.” 

Not just the club, Louis gathers, but everything. Niall presses the bandage firmly in place as the phone lights up again. Louis looks away from it, the happiness in the photo makes them look fragile. 

“You wanna get that?” 

Niall slips off the gloves and stands, ignoring the phone and immediately crossing to the desk for the crystal glass. 

“When you known him as long as I have, you know there’s no point.” He speaks while pouring, then motions at Louis with the glass in a salut before tipping it back smoothly. 

Louis squints, unsure if it’s the concussion or simply Niall that’s confusing him, “What?”

Niall smiles and tilts his head conspiringly like it’s an inside joke, “He’s predictable.”

The office door slams open. Louis jumps and winces at the flare up of pain, the water bottle he’d almost forgotten about in his hand spilling over his pants. 

Like the devil Harry’s appeared with fire in his eyes. 

“Your phone?” He speaks in the low tone of rolling thunder. 

Niall shrugs, relaxed, “Must have slipped outta my pocket.” 

Harry gives him a considering glare before facing Louis. For the first time Louis is acutely aware the man is carrying a gun, and it would be a lie to say he didn’t feel fear.

“Who was it?” The words are succinct and quiet, more deadly for the control behind them. 

Two green eyes stare in rapt focus. He flinches when Harry steps closer with a raised hand to gently stroke his face, a motion he’s done a hundred times. It’s kinda nice, actually, but looking at him only reminds Louis of bile.

He chews his split lip and answers in a mulish mumble, “Dunno.”

Harry’s jaw clicks, a crack in his mask. 

“Louis, who touched you.” He demands in a slowly enunciated way, hand still so gentle on his face.

The anger Louis started harbouring hours ago reignites behind his tongue. Fuck, he’s such an idiot. Any questions about the legitimacy of the police inquiry were eradicated when the guy in the parking lot spoke. He jostles out of Harry’s light hold. 

“Why? Could barely look at me earlier, now you think you own me?”

Screw the gun, Louis’ fed up with it all. If Harry wants to shoot him he will. 

“Liam is mine,” Harry snarls with a hand towards the impassive man behind him, “Niall, Zayn, mine as well.” Harry stabs a finger towards Niall and then at Louis. “You are mine, Louis. Someone hurts you, it's not only a strike on you, it’s an attack on me.” 

He looks propper upset now. Good.

Living people. Harry sells living, breathing human beings with families and futures. Louis reminds himself of it as he struggles to his feet and shoves Harry away when he tries to step closer. That’s the whole reason Louis has to use the wall to stand in the first place, Harry took someone’s sister. Now Louis’ going to let him get whatever he deserves.

“Piss right off, Harry. I wanted to speak 'cause I quit. I’m not your dancer, I’m not your anything.” 

He makes it less than a step before Niall, the bastard, speaks up, “I wouldn’t let him do that. He’s concussed, H.”

It’s Liam who cuts in front of him with a voice too smooth for the situation, “Sit down, please. Before you make it worse.”

Louis should keep walking, should get as far away as his bank account can get him, but standing truly has disoriented him. Belatedly he questions the strength of the pills he took, he doubts he could even make it out the door nonetheless to his car. He falls back into the couch with his head in his hands. This is so fucked.

“Niall, you have a club to run,” Harry says from somewhere above him. 

“Should we call James?” Liam asks.

“No, I’ll handle this.”

The hovering heat of Liam melts away after Harry’s dismissal and the door softly shuts. Then it’s him and Harry. In a room. The silence feels like a vacuum sucking out every last drop of oxygen. 

He hears the small shift of Harry’s clothes. It’s a long time before he speaks.

“How old am I?”

“Dunno,” Louis says to the floor.

“Where am I from?”

“I dunno, Harry,” he sighs. 

He sits back into the couch, ribs aching with the movement. Harry’s on the other side of the room with arms crossed, leaning casually against the wall. He’s unrecognizable from the Harry in the photo. Thin lines crease his eyes, a twist to his mouth, his whole stance created to depict the inherent confidence that never leaves him. To Louis he just looks tired. 

“How long have you worked here?” 

“Four years.” Clearly Harry’s going somewhere with this, hopefully he gets there before Louis passes out. 

“And how long have we been having sex?”

Louis’ brain stalls out a moment at the bluntness. The intensity of Harry’s words when Louis’ off his mind beneath him, how overwhelming it can be in the moment, it seems rather paltry to narrow it down to just sex. 

He tracks through his brain, fingers twitching again as he counts it up, “Six months, maybe.” 

Harry’s eyes burn through him, “You think that’s a coincidence? You’ve been employed for so long and been close, been in my house, and you don’t know my birthday?”

It’s not. He knows it’s not, because if there’s one thing Louis’ good at it’s not asking questions. The first words Harry said to him were 'I've been watching you,' and Louis wonders just how long he had been. His teeth tear a small piece of raw skin from his lips. Twelve, Louis reminds himself. There could be twelve other people if Harry kept a busy schedule. Somehow he doesn’t think that’s true and he doesn’t think he’s believed it for a while. 

Harry shifts against the wall with tense shoulders, “What do I do?” 

“You own a club.” 

“No, Louis. What do I do?” And there’s a dare in that voice.

Louis hears the words of the copper, ‘ongoing investigation,’ and the man in the car park spitting into his face, ‘my sister,’ running through his mind. He doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question, and it doesn’t. 

“Human trafficking.” It’s an accusation.

Harry nods, like it’s nothing, “Yes.” 

“You filthy rat bastar-”

Burning instinctive rage propels Louis out of his seat only for him to be shoved back into the couch. He catches his breath while Harry looks down at him. Harry pushes loose curls out his face and plants his hands on his hips. 

“This is exactly the issue with you, Louis. You don’t ask any questions.” Harry’s started to pace a bit so he looks down at him sideways. “I’m feeling rather generous, so I’m going to give you answers you didn’t ask for, just to be nice.”

Louis glares at him, a hand pressed to the worst of his chest in hopes it’ll ease the stabbing sensation where Harry’s hand had been. 

“Should I start with who? All those kids landing in foster situations worse than yours, kids on the street with parents too strung up on the flavour of the week.” Harry paces with his fancy heeled shoes clicking against the floor. It doesn’t surprise him Harry knows his upbringing, would be rather stupid of him not too. “And where? Where, oh where, do I send them? Do you know how much it costs to adopt? Do you understand the red tape and legal battles couples contend with? People with beautiful homes and stable jobs being denied because of their genitalia.”

He spins to Louis with an expectant face. So, okay. Maybe it’s questionable, but it’s not opium and sex dens. Breath stutters out of Louis’ chest and takes all of his energy with it. He slumps and rubs his nose with the backside of his thumb. The emotional whiplash is leaving him more disoriented than his attempt at standing. He’s not made up about how he feels concerning it all just yet, but there’s relief unwinding in his stomach. 

“The police came round,” Louis admits. 

Harry’s voice hardens. “I’m aware.”

Louis lifts his head to catch his eye, “They seemed pretty serious like.”

Harry perches on the front of the desk when he reaches it, taps his fingers on its slick top. “Someone has moved into the neighbourhood. Started running business a little too sloppy to stay under the radar.”

“Why do they think it’s you?” The absence of the burning anger left room for drowsiness to seep in and muddle things, slurs his words. Louis has to keep reminding himself to keep his eyes open as they speak. 

“Because they’re not complete idiots. My predecessor was well known for his success, but they can’t pin down why. Boggles their minds trying to understand where the money comes from. Something new pops up and it’s easy to point the finger in my direction, and lazy of them.” He says the last part like he’s more offended the cops aren’t doing their jobs well enough to arrest him for the right reasons.

The couch shifts next to Louis. He’s missed Harry moving but his bones are too heavy to react to his sudden presence. 

“Now I’ve given answers, I expect one in return.” Harry lays his arm across the back of the couch, voice dropping in tone. “Who hurt you?”

Louis’ kinda thankful for the heat radiating from Harry when he finds himself leaning into his side. Thermostats gotta be shot, Louis is freezing. 

“Said you’d taken his sister, wants to take your pretty things away until she’s returned. Didn’t have time to introduce ourselves after that, m’afraid.” The words take time coming out of his mouth, stopping and starting as he tries to keep his eyes open and mouth working at the same time. “Had a tattoo. Alive, big on the wrist.”

Louis feels Harry hum the way he does when thinking about something he doesn’t like. 

“Luke Hemming’s band of merry misfits, low level drug runners, be glad you met the sanest one of the lot. I recently received a gift from their most colourful member.” Something is draining tension out of Louis’ bones. It’s possibly fingers on the back of his neck. Might be the vibration of Harry’s voice where they’re touching, the words mostly lost on him. ”Unfortunately I don’t have the girl, and if they knew your name and shift hours they know where you live.” Feather light fingers brush against his cheek. Louis lost the battle, his head is lolled onto Harry’s arm as he dozes. “Stay with me tonight. "

Louis’ too tired to argue. He does protest when Harry moves and takes away the heat he’d been burrowing into. 

“How’d they know? ‘bout me,” he mumbles. It’s been scratching at his mind since the beginning of the night. 

“How do you think, Louis? There’s a leak.” Harry says it with less inflection than most comment on the weather. Unlike before his even tone isn’t forced, and it chills Louis more for it. Harry’s talking about being stabbed in the back and yet he’s standing unconcerned. Louis’ almost worried for the poor sod who dared slip up, he’s got a feeling Harry’s not the type to hand out second chances. 

“One more question,” Harry’s words are low and serious and he's still looking at him, never stopped really. They’re close enough for Louis to study the stressed crinkle of his brow while he awaits some grand demand he wont be able to give. “Where are your socks?”

Delirium is to blame for the way Louis starts to giggle. Despite the effort he's putting into keeping his frown there’s a familiar tug to Harry's lips. 

Louis tosses a hand onto Harry’s thigh, not in seduction, but to help steel himself for the great pain he knows getting to the car is going to bring. 

“Take me home, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spot a wild 5SOS! Say waaaaa (how fire is their new album?? That shit is LIT)
> 
> While writing this chapter I spent a lot of time staring at my wall while thinking 'but how does he FEEL?' 
> 
> Onwards we must go!


	5. Cereal (Serial)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh we're almost there babes! Hold on to your pantaloons! 
> 
> This chapter is definitely the one that changed the most between outline and completion. Somehow we've gone from 0 dialogue to 100% dialogue and I don't understand but it is what it is, y'know?
> 
> I was inspired by the mini series The Stranger for the alpacas. Kid you not, in the first episode a lady has a bunch of them (a herd?) and names a handful after the boys. As she named them I was like 'no fuckin way!' but way. Poor Louis tho. Needless to say there's some graphic alpaca content in that show. I can not make this shit up! Real crazy. 
> 
> You know how in a movie someone has an injury and then in the next scene it's like completely gone? Yeah this is that, sorry.

Louis wishes he didn’t remember the trip to Harry’s house. It was the purest form of agony, the painkillers doing little more than making him nauseous and slow. Every crack in the pavement shifted his bones regardless how careful Nathan tried to be after Harry shot him a scathing look. 

By the time he falls into the mattress he’s close to asking for a bullet just to make the throbbing on the side of his face end. Having Harry wake him up every hour, no matter how gently, does little to convince him life is worth continuing. 

The sun is already reclining into the hills when he stumbles out of tangled sheets and shuffles into the house. Last night the blow to his ankle had seemed much worse than it was shaping up to be, a tension bandage seemed to be doing the trick of holding things in place. Louis has experience with ankle injuries. He knows the drill to keep his weight off and the foot as immobile as possible until at least the swelling has gone down. The aches elsewhere are starting to settle in, but he manages to make his way with the reliable assistance of the walls. Seeing Liam perched on the couch is both surprising and yet not at all. 

“Sorry if we woke you,” Liam says honestly but distracted, his hands fisted together in front of him. 

Louis follows his gaze through the glass doors to see Harry standing by the pool with a phone to his ear. 

“Nah, s’fine.” Louis mumbles, distracted by the way Harry’s standing. “What’s he doing?” 

Liam sighs. 

“Convincing his brother not to commit murder.” Louis arches his eyebrow at the acidity. Liam’s face is dark as he sits back on the couch to look up at him better. “There have been a few petty surprises thrown our way, but the most recent mess makes sense now we know they’re thinking we took one of theirs. Kid’s absolutely psychotic, gonna have nightmares for weeks after that one”

Louis hums in a way that could be a question if Liam’s being generous. 

Liam looks him in the eyes, “Alpacas.”

“Alpacas?” Louis thinks he might still be sleeping. Or high. Possibly both. 

Liam rubs his forehead like it's troubling him just to remember, “Five of them. Decapitated with blood all over the place. Complete disaster.”

“So… “ Louis’ missing something here, not understanding how one missing girl equals five dead alpacas. 

“One of the Hemming’s boys, he’s got this stupid hair,” Liam motions in front of his face, “and a real taste for violence, he’s the one been hammering us with wild inconveniences. Harry’s often too busy to handle them himself but Zayn insisted we come down to see that one. There were names on them. Harry, Zayn, myself, Niall…” 

“And you.” Harry steps in from the patio. 

The words he understands, but the meaning takes a frozen moment to sink in. Louis’ name on a dead animal, left on the ground at Harry’s feet. 

Starting with you, he recalls. 

Louis swallows thickly and reevaluates his life choices. He took the job because the more exclusive the club the higher the tips, the cleaner the facility, the better benefits. It hadn’t mattered to him who ran it. He started sleeping with Harry because… well because it was Harry. The man was magnetic, Louis really can’t be faulted for looking the other way when it came to the fine print that came along with it. Warnings he should have read. He remembers the blood soaked silk shining in moonlight and wonders if this is what Harry was dealing with right before he found Louis in his bed. 

“He didn’t agree?” Liam looks to Harry, his voice shaking Louis out of his mind. 

Harry answers only with a stiff shake of his head.

“You’ll be staying here until this is sorted, Louis. We can discuss it further later, for now stay in the house. If you need something call Nathan and he’ll have it delivered.” Harry grabs the dark jacket from beside Liam and slips into it as he goes, a rather severe dark blue given Harry’s usual penchant for the outlandish. Louis watches him walk away while doing the middle button and Liam sighs, standing to follow. 

Louis is left drowning in pyjama pants a size too large in the empty living room. 

“Where are you going?” Louis asks after Liam’s halfway to the front door Harry’s disappeared through. 

He receives a glance over broad shoulders, “To stop a murder, or commit one. Never sure with him.” 

Louis doesn’t know if he’s talking about Zayn or Harry. Perhaps both. 

He’s been in this house more times than he can count now, but knowing he’ll be staying here indefinitely puts a weird taste in his mouth. There’s something else itching at him. Something about Harry’s brisk way when talking and his sudden departure. He hadn’t looked at Louis once. 

There’s a morning a few days later that Louis wakes to find the bed empty, to be expected at this point, unlike the loud voices coming from the other side of the wall. He limps out of the room to find the backs of Harry and Liam sitting at the kitchen counter. They haven’t seen him so he hovers just outside the bedroom, on the edge of ducking back in and pretending he’s still asleep.

“He’s been like this ever since-”

“It’s not him.” Harry’s raised voice cuts Liam off, his words accompanied by his open hands slapping the marble. “I will not keep having this conversation. Ludicrous as it might seem, Zayn’s loyalty is never questioned. Understood?” 

Louis holds his breath in the silence that follows, terrified of moving an inch. There’s rage in Harry’s voice and he’s half worried Liam’s not going to say anything. Liam might walk behind Harry, but Louis can’t think of a time he’s actually seen Liam defer to him. If anything they’d acted as a partnership, like they were the brothers discussing things on equal terms. 

“Understood.” It’s uttered stiffly, Liam’s back gone tense. 

The sound of Harry pushing his stool to stand gives Louis time to regain his breath. Harry stalks around the kitchen somewhat pointlessly, hands through his hair and then his hips, again to his hair that’s already pushed back. He settles leaning onto the worktop with both palms down and peers at Liam. 

“What’s the list?” His voice is back to its controlled even pace and Louis has to focus to hear it from where he is. 

“Nick,” Liam holds up a finger that has Harry quickly shaking his head. 

“Too invested long term.”

“Ed, Nathan, James.” With each name Liam lists, Harry shakes his head.

“None of them benefit from a turf war, Luke’s succession, or our communal fall.”

Liam sighs, “They’re the only people who know enough to do the things Zayn’s been dealing with, not counting the five of us.” He rubs the centre of his nose in a way that makes Louis think he might wear glasses. 

“Did Grimmy manage to speak with any of the Hemming boys?”

“No. Man’s a true chameleon, but they’ve made their minds about it all and gone underground. The only thing stopping them is the trouble locating Louis. Haven’t located the girl either.”

“And the police?”

“They’ve settled a bit, but we can’t relocate anyone until they either pick someone up or start another case to split focus. Too many eyes.” 

Harry hums as he thinks, staring down like the marble has answers. A moment of silence so long Louis thinks he’s going to suffocate if someone doesn’t speak. He hears the minute shifts of their weight, giving him the general impression they’d hear any escape attempt he could make. 

“We’re being played.” Harry says. “I simply can’t tell why.”

Liam’s stool slides against the floor when he pushes away from the bar to stand and Louis sees it as his chance to disappear. 

Louis sees it as his chance to disappear. 

A bath in the ensuite’s grande tub is the perfect thing to distract him from skipping breakfast. Half immersed in boiling water he replays Harry’s adamant dismissal of Zayn’s possible deception. It had been so sudden, so fierce, he worries it has more to do with emotion than reason. Maybe that’s what Liam thinks too, maybe that’s why, if Louis followed, he’d brought it up before. 

Every time Harry’s brother was mentioned he’d felt the tension and it only intensified when the two were in the same building. Louis didn’t know their past, barely had a sketched out idea of their relationship from Niall, but there was no denying they had one thing in common. The scowl they wore when face to face was identical. 

Louis lets the hot water swallow him whole and drown out the thoughts of the overheard conversation. Harry would deal with it. When it was all over Louis would go home and figure out the rest of his life, but that was a future Louis problem and not something to worry about now. It’s how he’d gotten through most of his life and it would get him through this. He stays in the tub until the water is lukewarm and the house is empty.

They aren’t fucking. Two weeks of sleeping in the same bed, but even that was only on the nights Harry’s actually returned after disappearing in the early morning, and they’ve barely touched. He’d been fine with it to start, made sense when he was as bruised up as he was, but the deep body aches had started to fade and with the absence of pain came more focus to think. He’s not some forlorn lover left to pine the days away, not really his place to even be concerned on the nights Harry doesn’t come back, but he is. Concerned. There were only so many days he could spend lounging by the pool and eating free food before he spent most of his time bored and, well. Rather horny. 

So it was a bit of a piss off that Harry barely looked at him before getting into bed and turning the other way, especially when Louis knew they were both naked. Harry’s usually the one to instigate things with something as subtle as a look, a smile, a tilt of his head. Now Louis stares at his muscled back in the ghostly light of the room, never quite dark even when the night surrenders itself to being halfway to morning. 

Louis does what he’s been wanting to do for several nights and reaches out with a steady hand. 

“What are you doing?” Harry’s voice is so low it almost disappears. 

“Thinking about you.” Louis admits boldly while his hand smooths over the ridge of a shoulder blade. 

Harry murmurs something into his pillow but he doesn’t tense or pull away so Louis drifts closer until he’s inches from being pressed against him. The tip of his nose greets the soft skin of Harry’s neck and shoulder. His hand curls around Harry’s ribs and starts to veer down. He sucks lightly at Harry’s pulse point and is a tad relieved to find Harry half hard under his hand. Encouraged he nips at the skin under his tongue and a groan rumbles through Harry’s chest. 

Harry turns beneath his hand and rolls him over so they’ve switched places, Louis’ back pressed against Harry’s chest and a firm hand on his hip to keep him there. 

“Stay,”

Harry dips away for long seconds as Louis nerves run hayware with anticipation. Finally, fucking finally. Harry returns with the wet slide of his cock along Louis’ ass, a strong hand on Louis' hip as he pushes in between his thighs. He grazes Louis’ balls every time he pushes in, the glide smooth along Louis’ sensitive skin and it’s maddening. Their skin grows tacky as they move against each other, Louis’ mouth parted as Harry’s hand takes hold of him in time with his thrusts between his thighs. It’s incredible. He opens his eyes and sees an empty room. It’s not enough. 

“Harry,” he moans, “I need… I need to see… “ He doesn’t get the rest out as the body behind him withdraws, tugging at his hip for him to follow. Louis rolls over to find Harry breathing hard on his back, damp hair falling into his face and wet cock against his stomach. 

“C’mon,” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Louis swings a leg over Harry to straddle his lap and moans as their dicks glance each other. Harry gets one hand up to steady him and the other wrapped around them both. Louis watches as he rolls his hips to push between the friction of Harry’s palm and his dick, ignoring the ache in his ankle in favour of the addictive heat of Harry’s skin. His eyes flick to Harry’s jaw, his parted lips, his intense eyes looking down at his own hand. It’s still not enough. 

He leans onto Harry’s chest and crushes their lips together. Harry kisses as he always does, like he’s in an argument and he’s winning. Louis’ hips have lost their rhythm but Harry’s broad hand still works him and it’s perfect. Louis cuts the kiss off in a gasp as he comes, panting wetly against Harry’s jawline. 

Harry’s hand moves on himself and Louis plans to go down on him as soon as he gets his breath back, but Harry’s stomach tenses beneath him and he watches Harry bite his lip as he finishes. The ache in Louis’ ankle won't be ignored now that he’s come down from the high so he rolls off into the sheets. Harry is up immediately. 

He returns with a damp cloth and wipes them down in his usual prompt manner. They settle back into place. 

For the first time the silence between them feels uneasy. Louis blinks the one eye not squished against a pillow until he can see the vague shape of Harry across the bed, where he’s been for the last two weeks. It still wasn’t enough, he realizes. 

“Harry,” he whispers in a serious tone he isn’t used to using and receives a soft grunt in return. “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping.”

Louis’ caught off guard by the swell of anger in him at the brush off. He’s been quiet for two weeks and now he’d really like to know what the fuck is going on. 

He sits up on an elbow, no longer whispering, “No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” Harry turns to face him, the first time he’s looked Louis in the eyes since he’s been injured. Louis waits for him, not knowing what question he’d even start with if he were to try to get something out of him. What Harry starts with is a shock. 

“The first time I saw someone die was the first time Zayn killed someone.” Louis stills, trying not to react and deter Harry from continuing. “He was protecting me, got blood all over my face because the guy was so close. Neither of us were even phased in the moment. Dealt with the body like Simon taught us, had a shower, watched some shit movie afterwards. I woke up crying, it took that long for the shock to kick in. Zayn, he stayed up all night with me because…”

Harry looks away to the ceiling, blinking more than normal. Louis feels like the expression he’s witnessing is rarer than any gemstone. 

“It's what you do for the people you love,” Louis finishes for him quietly. His memory of the sheer terror caused by the cops and dreading something happened to the girls still twists his stomach every time he comes close to thinking about it. 

Harry swallows thickly. “He’s been protecting me since we were six. Liam, Niall, they get most of it, but they weren’t the ones holding my hand. He’s the only person in the world who knows what I went through with Simon.” His eyes stare into the darkness like he can see his past there and doesn’t like the look of it. “Simon was harder on him. He wanted Zayn to be more than anyone ever could, I think. Zayn’s amazing with the kids, hell that’s why he was so good with me, but he cared too much. Wouldn’t let things go if they mattered to him, and a lot of things did. So Simon thought to teach him a lesson.”

Harry rolls completely to his back now, voice turning dark the more he talks. “Simon was a horrific father, but he was an excellent teacher. Her name was Perrie. Zayn had a ring picked out, the whole deal. I don’t know the whole story, what he actually did to make it happen, but Simon made sure she disappeared. Zayn hasn’t cared about much since.”

“Is that why Liam doesn’t trust him? Because he doesn’t care?” The questions out before he thinks better of it, but Harry doesn’t ask how he knows Liam’s stance. Instead he meets Louis’ eyes again, face a shallow outline in the blue light. 

“When Perrie went missing Zayn went off the rails, and I’d grown a little too dependent on him to get me out of trouble. I was in pretty bad shape when Liam found me, he had to carry me at the end for a bit. Zayn didn’t pick up the phone until a week later, I don’t think Liam’s ever forgiven him for letting a stranger sit in the place he should have been when it was touch and go.”

Louis can’t imagine it. Harry in a hospital bed, young and dependent on machines with a stranger looking over him. 

“I haven’t spoken to my sisters in ten years,” the number echos in his mind as he says it like a chant of shame and he clears his throat to get over it. “If they showed up tomorrow I would drop everything. Not everyone can understand it.” 

He’s fallen back into the pillows and curled on his side as they’ve talked. They lay there for a moment, the room around them moving in the slow patterns of waves in time with their breathing. Louis’ almost drifted off when Harry’s hand slowly crosses the bed between them and takes hold of his.

“February first.” Louis scrunches his face in sleepy confusion at Harry’s words and the small smile that accompanies them. “My birthday. February first of ninety four.” 

Louis squeezes the hand in his and presses his smile into the pillow to hide how ridiculously wide it is. They fall asleep with their fingers linked. 

“Were you serious about quitting?”

The questions stops him mid cereal crunch. It’s a battle to keep from choking as he slowly breathes and finishes chewing. He hadn’t been at the time, or rather he had been while wrongly informed, and now that he was correctly informed he’d yet to revisit the decision. He liked working at the club, generally liked the people he worked with, but the thought of going back there after all this makes his nose scrunch in distaste. He adjusts the phone on his shoulder.

“Yeah I think so, mate.”

“Damn,” Niall curses, “I’m going to miss seeing your ass in tight shorts. Bebe tries but she’s just not got the same bounce, y’know.”

Louis does choke on his cereal at that, looking at his phone to double check the time. Surely Niall’s not blitzed already, it’s early afternoon. 

“I’ll keep your suffering in mind.” He sets the bowl down. It can wait until he’s safe from Niall’s particular brand. 

“There’s a lad. Well, if that’s the case are you ever coming to retrieve your wheels? I’ve got your keys in the office, and some paperwork awaiting your beautiful signature to finalize the severance.”

Louis debates it, but last he remembers there was still blood on his tires and his backpack… 

“You grab my pack that night? I don’t have it here.”

“Yeah, tried to bring it round actually but you's weren't in. Starting to stink the place up too so you better hurry or it’s getting tossed.”

Louis laughs, knowing it’s probably true. The temptation of wearing his own clothes is strong, and the club isn’t that far. He bets Nathan could get him there and back before Harry returns from wherever. Louis’ looking forward to getting him in the pool now he’s over keeping his hands to himself. 

“'Ight, calm down. Been staying with a friend for a bit, but I’ll come by tonight. You gonna be there before opening?” 

“Always am.” Which is a bald faced lie because half the time Lewis is the one on shift until Niall takes over half way, but he lets it slide. Whatever his faults he’s missed Niall, and any company other than Harry and Liam for that matter. 

“See you then,” he’s about to hang up when he hears Niall say something else. 

“Harry going to be with you? Wanna know how many glasses to have for our last round as colleagues.”

“Dunno, depends if he’s back in time but it’s not likely. I’d keep your feet up.” 

“Cheers.”

Louis goes back to his cereal. It’s the healthy kind, the only box Harry had in the house. As he calls Nathan he repeats to himself to add something boxed and rainbow coloured to the market list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't plan on there being more smut in this fic, can you believe?
> 
> I wanna know your theories on how you think this will end!  
> Shoot 'em at me :)


	6. Hold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh yeah I got no other words to say but 'I'm sorry' ?

Louis sprawls out in the backseat, limbs akimbo with his phone above his face. The device weighs less than a sandwich and yet it takes a bit of effort to keep it from falling onto his face as Nathan navigates through traffic. By now the sun has started to set and it washes the interior of the car with pink hues. His thumb hovers over an unnamed contact in his phone. The chat history remains ominously blank and Louis doesn’t enjoy the thought of sending the first message.

“You tell Harry we were going out?” 

“Of course.”

Louis locks his screen and lets it fall to his chest. That’s settled then. He should have checked with him before leaving, but if Harry hadn’t stopped Nathan when he’d been informed it wasn’t worth worrying about. Besides, as fun as not wearing a seatbelt was Louis wasn’t half in the footwell for nothing. In and out at the club. Say goodbye to a few colleagues if they were around, take a shot with Niall as he signed the papers, then be back in time to do a few warm up stretches before Harry arrived. 

What he’s not expecting is Harry standing at the back door. Nathan iddles long enough for Louis to crawl out gracelessly on a sore ankle before driving off to park. Louis tugs at his hair, limp not too bad but enough to be annoying as he approaches Harry. Sleek sunglasses are pushed up on his head in an unfairly attractive way that’s not at all hindered by the impassive look on his face. For a moment the urge to kiss him is so strong Louis has to stop looking. It’s odd, because they weren’t casual about PDA, and when it did happen it led to something. Louis doesn't want it to lead anywhere, he just wants to say ‘hello, I’ve missed you’ without words. 

“Wasn’t expecting you,” he says instead, hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out. 

“Thought I told you to stay inside.”

“You my mother?” Louis challenges, half joking. He knows Harry’s not too angry, otherwise he would have called or ordered Nathan not to take him, and he’d like to see Harry try being locked inside for two weeks. Harry probably knows what he’s thinking because despite his stiff jaw he stays silent while pulling open the door, holding it for him. Louis hops into the hallway and blinks to adjust to the red light. 

True to his word Niall’s got his feet up on the desk when they walk into the office. He puts his phone down when he sees them and adjusts his shirt as he sits up with a bright eyed smile. 

“Louis, you bugger, I only brought two glasses down from the bar.”

Louis gives him a cheeky grin, “can’t control what he does more than anyone else.” 

Harry quickly makes himself comfortable on the couch, legs crossed and arms across the back like he’s known to do without refuting the light jab. Louis’ about to join him when Niall pushes out of his chair. 

“I put your kit in the locker, wasn’t lying about the smell. Might as well grab it while I run for two more of these pretty things.” Niall taps his plain ring against one of the crystals perched on the desk as he passes. 

Louis’ ankle weakly protests at having to walk to the change rooms and back. He was going to do it regardless to catch a few friends before their shifts anyways, he guesse it’s a bit early still but Bebe was known for her extensive prep routine so there’s a good chance of at least seeing her. Harry doesn’t look up from his phone when Lous ducks out. 

With one hand hovering by the cool brick wall in case he needs the help Louis worries the sore spot on his lip, a habit he’s gotten into since it split. He hasn’t figured out what’s bothering him by the time he reaches the back room. 

“Bebe?” He turns into the doorway and finds the row of mirrors empty. 

A phone call will have to do, maybe he’ll even have people over for the first time since… Halloween last year. Maybe two years ago. The memories of that particular disaster remind him of why he no longer invites people over. On the other hand, maybe they’ll go out like they usually do. No mess or expensive artwork broken. 

He pulls the latch on his usual locker only for a hand to reach over him and slam it shut.

“Nuh-uh-uh little butterfly,” hot breath wafts over his shoulder, “you sure are a pretty thing, aren’t ya?” 

The memory clicks a second before he’s slammed into the row of lockers. Under the sound of their metallic clatter a gunshot pops down the hall and freezes the blood in Louis’ veins. He shoves off from the wall and dives for the red light of the doorway.

“Harry!”

Hands grab the back of his clothes and yank him into a hold he struggles against. He can’t feel the pain of his old injuries and barely notices the bruising hands as they tear at him. 

Go to Harry. Go to Harry. Harry. 

A mantra stuck on repeat in his mind as he squirms with elbows and fists flailing to get out of reach. He’s almost managed to slip away when an errant foot knocks into his ankle. Louis’ legs buckle. The man is dragged down with him, thrown off balance by the fists he has clenched in Louis’ shirt. Not a moment to waste Louis scrambles to get out from under him, but the man has almost a head of height on him and the weight to match.

Hands wrap around his throat. Louis puts his all into fighting it, his mind flying through possible weak spots to get the pressure off but the man’s arms are too long to reach his eyes and the thighs too strong to shift the weight no matter how Louis bucks. Another gunshot goes off somewhere in the hallway, distant yelling he can’t hear over his own choking. Tears gather in his eyes from pain and he can’t- can’t give up, c’mon Louis. Fuck. He keeps tearing at every bit of skin he can get to but the vice grip doesn’t waver and his vision starts to blur, his chest aching in desperation for air. Harry. Go to Harry. 

Air rushes in so quickly it’s painful when the hands disappear. Louis’s chest expands like a balloon and keeps trying to inhale more with every ragged, drawn out breath. The weight of the man is gone. Louis’ mind starts working slowly. The weight is gone because the man lays beside him with a bullet through the head and new hands start to pull at Louis. He startles away from them until he’s blinked enough to see Zayn’s stern face. He lets himself be manhandled upright and shoved into a seat in the corner.

Louis’ never experienced anything more painful than trying to speak, “Harry-” 

Zayn crouches over him so they’re eye to eye, “Stay the fuck here or I shoot you next.”

Then he’s gone like a phantom, unheard. Louis’ still catching his breath. 

His gaze settles on the limp body of the man who tried to murder him, the face covered by a flop of blond hair. Stupid hair. Louis winces as he swallows. Clumsy hands wipe at the sticky tears on his cheeks. His eyes flick to the doorway. Go to Harry. 

His feet take a few tries to hold him, if he keeps moving forward he’s fine, he can make it like this, inching along the hall, he just needs to get to Harr- 

Someone flies out of the open office door and slams into the brick wall. They jolt twice in time with the sound of a gun and slump to the floor. For a second, a moment, all Louis can see are brown curls. His hand flies to his own hair and tugs so hard he must pull strands out but he feels absolutely nothing. The rest of the picture comes into focus. It’s not… Harry wasn’t wearing… Harry was in a suit. Is in a suit. Somewhere, but not on the ground in front of Louis. Whoever this was is dressed head to toe in casual black. Louis doesn’t think Harry even owns Chuck Taylor’s.

Glass shatters from inside the office. Yelling, too many voices for Louis to make out words. Harry, Zayn, Liam, Niall, all over top of each other. Louis needs to go in there, needs to get to Harry, but he can’t stop looking at the body slumped against the brick long enough to keep moving. 

Two gunshots layered so close together they’re almost one. They echo, followed by ringing silence. Louis covers his mouth to muffle a sound. When he finally drags himself to the edge of the doorway he leans carefully to peer into the office. He has to look down. 

Harry’s back is to him, floral patterned shoulders bent over the person cradled in his lap. Liam’s there, crouching in front of him with bloody hands. Louis takes another step to see a dark head of hair and Zayn’s face clenched in pain as Liam presses down on his stomach with what looks like the shirt from his own back. Louis’ eyes roam the rest of the room and catch on the motionless feet by the desk. 

“You were told to stay.” 

He’s taken another step closer without realising. Zayn’s head is knocked back on Harry’s shoulder, looking at him. Louis struggles to make his voice work, it cracks and grates in his raw throat. 

“Your brother should’ve warned you I’m no good at listening.”

It’s a blur from there. Louis stumbles down to the couch, exhaustion crashing into his bloodstream after the rush of adrenaline. Nathan comes in with a redheaded man, James, and together they haul Zayn presumably to medical assistance somewhere since Harry let’s them. Harry. He’s in constant motion, organizing closure of the club for the night, wiping his bloody hands off as he and Liam speak in low tones. Louis does his best not to look behind the desk. 

“Lou,”

Harry stands before him now, a small bit of blood smeared on his face, those intense eyes scanning over him without settling on one place. With the last ounce of energy he has Louis throws himself at him. He wraps his arms securely around Harry’s solid chest, savouring the reassuring rhythm of Harry’s lungs. He presses his face into Harry’s shoulder and breathes, fists clenched in the stupidest suit he’s ever seen. After a moment Harry’s arms come around him. 

“I thought… I kept hearing a gun and I thought… you bastard.” he mumbles into Harry’s shoulder, hard to keep his thoughts straight when all of his focus is directed towards ensuring Harry’s alive in his arms. 

Liam takes them home. A crew of people had shown up to deal with the mess, speaking shortly with Harry before Louis was ushered into the car. At least Liam found another shirt somewhere. Harry keeps a hand and his eyes on Louis the entire drive. It’s there in the backseat he explains in short words when Louis asks. 

“Niall made a deal with Hemming. There is no missing sister, it would have worked in their favour if they took me out on the grounds of a personal vendetta. News would spread, they’d establish the credibility they need to move forward with their drug enterprise, and in return Niall would gain ownership of the commercial venues.”

It clashes with Louis’ memories of Niall. He tries to think if there were times he seemed bitter, contempt, uneasy. There were none. Four years Louis had known him. Whatever else he’d been, Niall was a good actor. He glances at Harry beside him. Sodium lights paint his profile in sharp relief against the dark of night while the car keeps rolling. They’d been school mates, so Niall had said. He wonders how the man feels about it, but there’s nothing in Harry’s eyes but endless green while he toys with the curling ends of Louis' hair. 

There’s a stillness to the empty house when they fall into it. A delicate silence they don’t disturb as they make their way in the dark. He trails behind Harry and watches the back of broad shoulders, straight and tall. Harry hasn’t said anything since the car, in fact he’s barely looked at Louis after opening the front door, but he leaves the door open when he strips on marble tile in front of the shower. Louis takes the invitation and follows. 

It’s there, under water too hot to be comfortable and steam clogging his lungs, as their hands rub lavender soap over the expanse of each other's bodies, that Harry starts to shake while he stands at Louis’ back. It begins slowly, a silent trembling in his fingers after Louis can’t stifle a flinch when Harry strokes the tender skin of his neck. A wet cut-off sound warns him as Harry tries to step back. Louis grabs the man’s hand and holds it fiercely against the vulnerable plain of his stomach, keeping Harry in place. Harry’s forehead falls to his shoulder. Louis closes his eyes at the hiccuping sobs muffled into his skin. Harry curls around him.

When they lay in bed Harry keeps a tight hold on him. Their kiss is soft and fluid in the murky currents of blue light. 

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey-o can you tell I’m a film lighting tech? I freaking love lights and colour and had too much fun incorporating super obtuse saturated light into this story, not even sorry about it. 
> 
> Is this really the end? Le gasp, I think it is my friends. If you really want to know: Harry continues to find children good homes, Zayn recovers to be the same ass-hole they all know and love, Liam becomes even more insufferably protective of Harry, and Louis keeps enjoying life as a kept boy while going on to dance for a local company. Luke Hemming’s gang backs off now that 2/4 key members are dead (RIP Michael and Ashton ily) and the police back off when no further evidence comes to light. 
> 
> This was the first time I posted while writing, and although I was surprised at how much the constant feedback really did encourage me, I don’t think I will do it again because I really should have altered a few things in the setup to help this ending pay-off.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who followed along for this journey, my first real venture into the world of 1D. You’re all so brilliant and I loved writing for you. <3


	7. Series Cont.

Hello!

I have written a Part 2 titled IV  
Harry's POV with a second look at the shocking climatic scene.

There is now a Part 3 titled III (very fitting)  
A Prequel to Part 1, a glimpse of Harry's childhood and past. 

Subscribe to the Vulgar SERIES to continue being updated about future fics in this 'verse.

Hope you enjoy :)  
-zanni xx

( Any time is a great time to leave a comment <3 )

**Author's Note:**

> Find neat graphics for this fic and all of my stories on tumblr :)  
> https://zanniscaramouche.tumblr.com/tagged/v
> 
> WHAT WAS YOUR FAVOURITE PART?? <3


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